There may be trigger warnings in this chapter. Please be cautious.

Over the next few hours, I surveyed the girls shifting around the room in a strange mixture of sleep, boredom, and expectation. Each girl was young with a firm leonine body and beauty, ranging from exotic to hometown sweetheart. Beneath their bored and expectant façade, I could see a deeply repressed nervous agitation. I knew prostitution was legal in Turkey, but somehow I doubted any of these girls were registered and licensed. And more than a few looked much too young to be legally approved. 

    I turned and watched the people on the narrow street outside appear and disappear, blithe and unaware of this prison. I explored the room, amidst the girls' amusement and discovered the only other door besides the main one lead to a small bathroom with a single toilet and sink. There were no windows in the bathroom and hardly enough room for a single person to stand. The only way out of this room was the door or a five-story drop. I had already tried the latter; it was time to devise a plan for the former.  

    I needed to learn more about the layout of the building. To do that, I needed out of the room. I bided my time and waited. I was sure Petro knew I was waiting, strategizing. I also knew he didn't care. The sun had reached its zenith and began its descent before the lock clicked again.

    Two men came in and walked toward the girls clustered on the sofas. Two girls got up and followed one of the men out of the room as he gestured to them. The second man reached over the girl who had passed out and turned her head to face him. She opened her eyes and shook her head meekly. He grunted sourly before pulling her up and over his shoulder. She didn't resist.

    The soles of her feet were black and dirty. They looked swollen and discolored. I wondered if she could walk much. I doubted they cared and considering the state she was in, I suspected she didn't either. "They get rid of her soon," Agnes whispered behind me. "Sleep too much, little money." The girl disappeared through the door just before Özgür came in and walked toward me.

    "Come now, Cicegim," he said before he had fully crossed the floor. "It is time to learn your talents." Agnes made a soft noise of repugnance behind me. Özgür ignored her and smiled knowingly at me, making my skin creep away from him, but I didn't look away.

    Before Curtis attacked me, I'd only ever thought vaguely what I would do in a situation where I would be forced to defend myself. Besides the standard self-defense moves most women learn, I'd always fantasized I'd be able to fend an attacker off with quick thinking and a sudden knowledge of judo or karate. Foolishness. Curtis was strong and forceful, and I felt like a puppet. But I kicked and scratched and fought back with every ounce of strength I had. And Curtis killed me for it. Maybe he would have killed me anyway. It didn't matter. It changed my life. It made me Avati. I knew what I was. Still, it changed nothing. I would probably do it again. I didn't want to fight, but I sure as hell wasn't going to capitulate either. I didn't know what Özgür had planned, but I certainly wasn't going to make it easy for him.

    When I didn't move, he reached over and grabbed my arm, impatient. I still didn't move, and he turned on me with a hard look, intolerant and demanding... but behind that, I could see he was slightly amused.

    "Szarosfaszú," Agnes murmured quietly behind me, just loud enough for both of us to hear. I looked at her, and she smiled, wicked and delighted. Özgür stared back and forth in confusion and then smiled, somewhere between a sneer and charm, at her. I snickered devilishly, and his hand dug into my arm. Agnes had a mouth full of horrendous insults, and she wasn't afraid to fling them at Özgür whenever possible. If he knew what she was saying, he'd probably kill her.  

    "Menj az anyad picsiajaba," she muttered again, louder this time, as he hauled me toward the door. I allowed my feet to move. I still needed to learn the layout of the building, after all. 

    The other men had already disappeared with the girls. The hallway was empty. He pulled me toward the stairs. On the sixth floor above us, there was a large open sitting area with plush chairs, sofas, and many small tables. I also caught a glimpse of a bar on the far wall. We walked up another flight and stopped on the top floor. The building had seven stories. The stairwell seemed to be connected to the entrance at one end of the building with long hallways leading to many rooms down the length of each level. The top floor had a small sitting room with two large flat-screen televisions and a hallway leading to only three doors.

    "Don't make it too easy," Özgür said while I was examining the sitting room. "Resist a little at first. Make him work for it." I turned to him confused and nauseous. He watched my reaction with a pointed look. "But don't resist too hard or too long. You'll piss him off."

    I couldn't believe it. He was giving me advice.

    "Make him feel like he won you," he continued. "Our best girls always act like they're unattainable, and they're the hardest to control."

    My expression must have been fierce. "I am not one of your girls."

    "Exactly. Just like that."

    He lifted my hair and sniffed it slowly, just like before. Then he pulled me to the first door and knocked. A voice mumbled something I didn't understand, and Özgür turned the knob. It was a large office with a wide hand-carved wooden desk and deep green upholstered chairs facing it. A deep sofa took up most of the space along the far wall. Two glass doors were opened and led out to a balcony, just like the room I woke up in. Petro sat in a large swivel chair looking untroubled. He nodded to Özgür, who released me and quickly disappeared.

    My eyes moved from Petro to the doors behind him. I considered rushing the balcony, but I just as quickly disregarded the idea. I was seven floors up. I knew I'd survive the fall, in a manner of speaking, but it didn't matter. Petro seemed relaxed, watching me, but wouldn't let me get more than a couple feet if I bolted.

    We watched each other. Neither of us showed emotion. I made a point not to shift my weight or fidget. He wanted to make me uncomfortable, and I wasn't going to let him. Maybe it was childish. Maybe it was a prudent strategy. I didn't care either way. I could feel a breeze blowing in from the river just outside and the Bosphorus nearby, cutting into the heat that had gripped the day. And still, we watched each other.

    Eventually, Petro nodded to a wooden chair near the corner of his desk. I accepted the silent invitation and sat. A call to prayer sang in the distance, ironic and poignant.   

    "How did you kill Esther?" he finally asked.

    I raised an eyebrow. After all that silence, this was the first question he asked? He was direct. I appreciated directness. But if it was his first question, it was important to him but not, ultimately, what he was after.

    "I stabbed her in the neck with a knife."

    He jerked his head slightly to the side. That was the only movement. It must have been Petro's version of surprise. "Where did you get the knife?" he asked, without a trace of sentimentality.

    "It was hers."

    Petro leaned his chair back slightly, then dropped back down and stood up. He walked over and sat on the edge of his desk a few inches from me. "I'm assuming she didn't just hand you the blade and hold still."

    "She didn't."

    "Who else was there?"

    "We were alone." He flashed an angry look for a second. He didn't believe me. "Ezra was running up the stairs but was still several floors down. Esther wanted him to watch me die." The anger vanished as suddenly as it appeared. That he believed.

    "She wanted to kill you," he said.

    "Yes." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

    He nodded. "Yes, she would. Esther liked symmetry." He leaned forward slightly, "but you couldn't have overpowered her, not on your own."

    In a flash, he pulled a small silver knife out of the air and thrust it into my hand. The next instant, his fingers were wrapped around my throat and drove me into the back of the chair. He slowly inched his face closer to mine and stopped when I could feel his breath against my skin. I turned and looked down at the flash of silver in my hand. It was simple. A short wide blade no more than three inches long from end to end. The handle was barely more than an inch in length, and a crescent-shaped prong curled down from the end, designed to fit perfectly in the curve of my fingers. 

    "You hold it like this," he said, taking the knife with his free hand and fitting the curve of the handle into the palm side of my hand between my middle and ring fingers. Then he curled my hand into a fist, so the point of the blade stuck out like a deadly metallic finger.

    Light glittered off of a sword. I was standing a few feet away from men mounted on horseback. The horses glistened with sweat, their muscles quivering with spent exertion. There were less than a dozen men. They wore tunics that they wrapped around and belted. Their trousers were a mixture of leather and woven cloth. They all wore soft leather shoes, and many of them wore soft pointed hats that flopped to the side and covered their ears. All of them had swords belted to their waists and longbows. The horses looked as dressed up as the men with braids, tassels, and metal ornaments hanging from their mane and saddles. They had formed a half-moon around another mounted rider in front of them.

    I was in some kind of flat grassy field. Facing them several yards away was a group of women on horseback. The women were dressed similarly to the men but with less ornamentation. They all had long braids slung over their shoulders or down their backs. Some of the women had bows already strung and pulled taut, ready to release. The rest had short swords in their hands.

    The men looked pleased. The women looked ready for a fight. The lead man shifted in his seat. It was Petro. His skin looked dark and rough, not the smooth pale man I knew.

    "I have a gift for you," he called out to the women. He nudged a large sack he had slung in front of him off the horse, and it fell to the ground. A soft feminine grunt came from it as it hit the ground. The women inched their arrows back further. One woman encouraged her horse forward, and she stepped closer to Petro.

    "That's very generous of you."

    "I'm a generous man."

    One of the women said something to the leader in a language I couldn't understand. But her intention was clear enough. She was poised and ready to fight. The leader held up her hand, and the woman settled down.

    "I have many generous qualities," he continued.

    "Such as?"

    "Come to my furs, and you can learn for yourself."

    Her brow shot up in interest before her eyes narrowed.

    Petro's hand squeezed tighter. "What are you waiting for," he hissed. "Overpower me." I blinked and looked up at him. His body was rigid, muscles tense and ready. 

    "I didn't overpower her. That would have been impossible." He didn't move or react. "All I needed was a moment for her attention to waver. When it came, I grabbed it." He relaxed his grip and stood.

    "Hmmm..." He rested back on the edge of his desk. "That simple?"

    "No," I answered. "It was very, very hard."

    He laughed and then reached over, gently prying the knife from my fingers. "When you get as old as I am, you can feel the silver sing to your blood through your skin," he told me as he palmed the knife then looked at me. "Would you try to kill me if you had the moment?" His voice had slid back to that soft, seductive quality I'd heard before.

    "I don't know. Do I need to?"

    He smiled again.

    Without warning, he leaned over me and pushed my chair onto its back legs, tilting me awkwardly up toward him. I was forced to grip onto the seat to keep from falling off. Then I allowed gravity to sink my body into the back of the chair and looked up.

    "I can't decide if I should fuck you or kill you." He dipped the chair back further and nudged my nightgown up to my hips. Then he snaked his fingers up my thigh and wrapped them around the edge of my panties. He brushed his thumb lightly, slowly along my skin, and then pulled, ripping the thin fabric away from me and tossed it on the ground. In the next instant, he pushed my knees apart and pressed the heel of his hand hard between my legs and waited.

    Seconds passed. 

    My eyes never left his. I stared up at him, mirroring his cold and distant expression second for second.

    He waited, watching.

    Then he threw back his head and laughed, the sound erupting from deep within his lungs.

    "No pleading. Not even a tremble." He ran his thumb slowly along my chin. "What do you think?" he said, raising his voice louder. The sound of wood creaking and a light shuffling came from the balcony.

    A deep disembodied voice drifted through the open doors, "She's intriguing." Tem stepped in, looked at me, and shrugged. "But not my concern.

    "Would you kill her?" Petro asked. Tem's eyes darted quickly to Petro and squinted slightly, but I couldn't read what that meant.

    "No."

    Tension flit across Petro's jaw, and then he turned back to me. "Hmmm. Are you worth keeping?" Tem sat in one of the soft chairs, his thoughts drifting into the distance. Petro watched me for a long time, his fingers twisting the silver knife almost idly, but I knew better. Then he set the blade on the desk.

    "What were you looking for in Esther's house?"

    "Is that why you attacked us?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even, but it came out petulant. "Because we were at Esther's house?"

    Petro didn't answer but stared levelly at me. "What were you looking for?" he repeated.

    I thought about his question. "I don't know. I guess just to know who she was, what she was doing."

    Genuine confusion crossed his face. "Why?"

    "I never killed anyone before."

    "And who was she?"

    I sighed and leaned my head against the back of the wood chair. "A girl," I answered sad and a little wistful. "She liked butterflies, the color pink, and a good book." I stopped and looked up at him. "Did you love her?"

    His expression didn't change. "She was mine."

    Tem was looking at me now, his expression unreadable.

    "What did you find out?" I asked Petro. He shook his head, confused. "Why were you spying on her?" I added.

    He breathed slowly. "She was mine," he said again. "I took care of her. She could be erratic sometimes," he said. "Unpredictable. I always knew what she was doing, even when she didn't know herself. I take care of my women." He looked absolutely sincere.

    I scowled at him in disgust and disbelief, thinking of the girls locked in the room with me.

    Petro shook his head and huffed lightly. "Not the meat downstairs," he answered, reading my thoughts, "Women."

    I blinked slowly. Avati women, of course.

    "So you sent those men after us?" I asked. "Mortals?" He shrugged, uninterested.

    "Why?" I asked.

    "Why not?"

    "But you knew... you had to have known most of them would never succeed. Never survive."

    He nodded. "I did."

    My mouth dropped open, baffled. "Then why?"

    "Because I wanted to."

    I didn't understand. I took a deep, slow breath and looked up at him. He looked just as confused by my response as I was by his.

    "And the girl in Tel Aviv?" I finally asked.

    "Yes," he answered throatily. "I allowed Esther to think she had secrets. She enjoyed playing games, planting diversions... disappearing for a while. She loved secrets. They were good for her morale." He looked like he was about to snicker, but he shook his head instead. "I don't know what she planned to do with the mortal look-alike. She took that secret to the grave. But I had to let her play," he added with a sigh. "With Esther gone, there was no point in keeping the double around." He paused and shifted toward me slightly. "Her games helped her to heal. I always give my women what they need."

    That was the moment I knew. He intended to keep me. He was telling me this for my benefit. I looked up at him, trying to decipher what he wanted with me. Was it just because I was new, or was it his need to control? Something told me he wanted more, much more. I felt I was close to understanding something, but my thoughts were scattering. My adrenaline was making me erratic.

    "But why kill them all? They were harmless to you. I don't understand."

    "You can't understand, not yet. All you know is this... this stench," he said, gesturing out the window toward the city. A dull brown haze hung limply in the air over the crowded buildings on the horizon. "I hate this world. It's full of cannibals. Mortals are nothing but cannibals, feeding off of each other, sucking the life out of the earth until there is nothing left. When I was born, no one would have ever abandoned a child to live in the sewers, sleeping in shit and filth, left to starve and fight for scraps. We understood the value of life and balance. We respected The Mother. Mortals respect nothing, love nothing, not even themselves."

    "Is that why you keep them locked up as slaves?"

    He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me. "I don't tell the guards to keep them locked up. I don't make the guards do anything. Everyone here makes their own choices. I could order them to open all the doors, and you know what would happen?" He paused, looking down at me. I didn't answer. "Nothing. A few might leave, but most would stay. Because life in here, this pathetic, savage life is better than anything they had on the streets. They would rather lie down and take whatever the guards give them. They will betray themselves; betray each other for a piece of bread and a warm bed. They will destroy until there is nothing left. Mortals are weak, greedy parasites. They're always desperate for more— more money, a fatter belly, and one more fuck before they die. I won't stop them. Let them feed off each other until they destroy themselves." I couldn't look at him and turned away. "One day you'll understand," he told me quietly.       

    My heart thumped lightly, which I was sure he could hear, but I kept my composure calm. I sat silent for a long time. He didn't try to interrupt my thoughts. Tem was scrolling through something on his phone, clearly bored with the conversation.

    "What is the census for?" I finally asked, needing to change the subject. He blinked at me and didn't respond. "The map, the genetics, the timelines," I prodded.

    Tension snaked across his shoulders for an instant. Then he nodded in decision. "It's not a census," he told me. "It's a family tree."          

    "Whose?" I asked.

    "Mine."

    "Yours?" I blinked in shock. "I don't understand. Then who were you looking for?"

    He pursed his lips, his eyes skimming over me again, slowly. A smile formed on his lips as he brushed his fingers gently against my knees. "I was looking for me."

    "What do you mean?"

    Petro pulled the chair forward slightly, making sure I was watching and paying attention. "The family tree is mine. You are mine. The Avati of the world are my children. My responsibility." My blood shivered.

    Petro stood up and walked toward the door and opened it. He stuck his head out and called to someone down the hall. A short man, well-muscled with a thick neck, came into the room. Petro didn't look at him.

    "Kizi geri gotur."

    The man unceremoniously grabbed my arm and escorted me through the door.

    My mind raced as I was dragged down the hall. Petro was old. He must have been the source Hattu was talking about. I shivered again. Agnes was right; he wanted to use me to replace Esther. Was it revenge? Did he love Esther? I shook my head. No, it wasn't revenge. Maybe his control over her made him feel powerful. Was it because I was able to kill her while being so young, and it made me an intriguing new toy? I got the impression Petro liked his toys.  Maybe. No, no, it wasn't. It was more than that.        

    When I returned to the room, I saw most of the girls had changed into fancier and far more suggestive clothing. They were pacing around the room in brisk, restless strides. Agnes was slouched in a chair, unconsciously fidgeting with her hair. She half-smiled when she saw me, but it disappeared quickly.

    "How was he?" she asked as she followed me toward the window. It seemed to be Agnes' regular territory, and it felt the most comfortable place to be. The rest of the girls eyed me curiously but kept their distance.

    "Old," I answered. "Very, very old."

    She scowled at me quizzically. "What does this mean?"

    I shook my head briefly. "Nothing happened. He didn't do anything." She gave me a long, penetrating look and shook her head.

    "No underwear," she said, pointing to my increasingly rumbled nightgown. I looked down at myself. My skin felt itchy, and my bare feet were getting dirty. My hair was thick and gummy from the brine of the river water. I desperately wanted a bath but didn't think one would be forthcoming.

    "He tore them off, but that's all. He didn't do anything else but talk." She frowned and gave me a worrying look.

    "He want something else from you," she muttered. "Bad."

    I nodded and returned to staring out the window. I closed my eyes in exhaustion. I cringed, thinking how he would use me to replace Esther, in his bed, and out of it. He was the oldest Avati. And clearly, he felt some sort of responsibility to the rest of us because of it.

   I thought about why he went through all this trouble to bring me to Istanbul. All the games and wasted mortal lives, I kept trying to grasp at a motivation. I sighed and shook my head—all these ridiculous games. By using the mortals, he was making a point, but it was more than that. It wasn't just sex and power. It wasn't only to add me to his collection. It couldn't be. But what more did he want?

    A faint cold shiver ran down my spine. What if I represented the impossible? I killed Esther when I couldn't... shouldn't have been able to. Özgür was right; I was dangerous. Suddenly the oldest Avati weren't invincible. But he didn't seem afraid. He seemed tantalized.

    I shivered again as I thought of Ezra. I had no idea where he was or what he would do, but I did know it would be soon.

    The sun was beginning its descent. It would set shortly. Something fell past the window, and I jumped. Agnes gasped loudly and leapt back as it landed on the narrow ledge.

    Yisu looked up and smiled, bright and childishly cheerful, from the other side of the glass. 

    Ezra!

dadadunnnn, Ezra (and Yisu) to the rescue!

How do you think that will fare?

TEASER: "What are you doing?" he asked, finally turning to me.

    "Smuggling in child assassins in a massive escape attempt."